Fate Cipher
by Daniel Affaro
Summary: The Fourth Holy Grail War is upon us. The seven masters have been selected, and their servants summoned. All of the gathered masters have a reason to covet the Grail, but all is not as it seems. To the winner goes everything they wished for... But is that always for the best?
1. Point Zero

**Chapter 1: Point Zero**

A chilling wind sliced through the air, carrying with it a drowning flurry of snow. A veil of cotton white descended upon the forest and before long the branches of the fir trees were covered with a thick dusting of powder.

Busying themselves in the middle of a large clearing, a group of individuals had set about carving some form of array into the ground. They had chanced their fate with the Gods and raced a blizzard to the forest, yet fate was not on their side. It was all they could do not to retrace their steps and cause a potentially fatal mistake.

Stood at the dead centre of the clearing, the markings snaking around his white leather shoes, a curious man stared out into the snowscape with pale red eyes. Dressed head to toe in white, and with skin as pale as milk, he almost seemed to blend with the surroundings. Caught in the wind, his light silver hair fluttered out into the air.

Another chilling blast of cold tore through the clearing. Ice bit at the man's skin, yet he did not care.

The ritual was almost ready.

* * *

"Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill..."

Blood spattered the floor of the dusty study, etching crimson rivulets onto the wood. A damp thump reverberated off of the numerous bookcases as a dead rabbit was thrown down onto an already existing pile, to join its fellows.

"And when each is filled, destroy it."

The sound of scribbling pervaded the air, as the room's sole occupant began to frantically scrawl into the notebook clasped in his hand. Clad in a white shirt, covered in dark suspenders, his hair was messy and unkempt. Ink and blood stained the tips of his fingers.

Set down carefully on an alter, ahead of him, was a centuries old Palm Leaf Manuscript.

* * *

Digging his fingers into the deep wound, gouged into his side, the man bit down on the corner of his lip and swallowed a strained breath. Sweat saturated his clothes, leaving a sour smell hanging in the air.

Utilising his own blood, he finished drawing a large and complex transmutation circle onto the ground below.

* * *

"For the elements silver and iron, the foundation stone and the arch to the pacts. Before my great master Schweinorg, raise a wall against the wind and close the gate in four directions. Now... Come forth for the crown and follow the forked road leading to the kingdom."

His fingers splayed from his outstretched hand, the regal-looking gentleman flicked his eyes down at the symbols etched into the floor. Ethereal light seeped around the edges of the markings and licked against his dark iris.

Despite being inside, wind tugged at the fabric of his neatly tailored suit.

A confident smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

* * *

"Hear my words... My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny..."

The man read half-heartedly from a collection of notes clasped in his fist.

An eerie green light settled on the dank surroundings, lapping away at any semblance of joy and happiness. His voice reverberated off of the damp space and struck back at him.

In the distance, the wet clicking of insects could be heard behind the roaring of the unnatural wind.

"If you heed the Grail's call and obey my will and reason, then answer my summoning."

* * *

Slamming his fist down upon his desk, the Investigator stared up at the portrait hung on his wall. Through gritted teeth, he ground out a solemn oath.

"I swear it! I will be the world's justice! I will be the one that rids the world of evil!"

A prickling sensation crawled across the back of his hand. A crimson marking etched itself onto his skin, as if it were being slowly carved onto his flesh.

White light flared up and flashed through the small office.

* * *

Clenching his fist tightly, the man's strong Italian accent reverberated against the confining walls of his study as he screamed out the incantation.

"And let thine eyes be clouded in the fog of turmoil and chaos! Thou who art trapped in a cage of madness!"

Beneath his feet, the ground began to shake and rumble violently. Books, once stacked neatly on the table behind him, tumbled to the floor with a crash. Set upon the alter beneath the man, a weathered fragment of bone began to violently shake. Lashes of electricity flickered through the air, leaving it thick and charged with static.

"And I the summoner who holds thy chains!"

* * *

" _Seventh Heaven, clad in the great words of power. Return from the circle of binding, guardian of the heavenly scales!"_

* * *

Mitsuomi Tanaka fell to his knees, scattering objects from his desk in his descent. Grasping his left hand, a painful hiss escaped his clenched teeth.

Red markings stretched across the once smooth skin of the back of his hand, forming strange interlocking patterns.

Observing the mark, through the lenses of his stylish half-frame glasses, Mitsuomi wracked his brain for anything that could explain what had just happened to him.

The phenomenon was definitely magical in origin. Ill-practiced in the wider scope of Thaumaturgy, though he was, he knew that much. The sinking feeling of fatigue in the pit of his stomach told him that whatever happened had almost entirely drained him of his Mana. However, up until that point, the extent of Mitsuomi's Magecraft knowledge had been in The Edict of Binding.

And this certainly was not a binding ritual.

If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that it felt like some kind of summoning.

But even if it was... That still didn't explain the mark that had appeared on his hand.

"They're called Command Spells," suddenly arose a voice.

Turning around, Mitsuomi hurriedly attempted to place the origin of the voice. Sat casually in the chair beside his office door was a beautiful young woman. Fiery red hair cascaded off of her head in thick curly locks and fell over her left shoulder. Her skin was dreamily pale and her eyes a bright piercing blue.

"Honestly..." she scoffed, with a grin. "Imagine my surprise being summoned here, only to find that the Mage who had done so is so green he might as well be pissing grass."

Stunned by her brash manner, Mitsuomi fumbled his words. He was still having difficulty processing exactly what was going on; the woman's appearance only serving to confuse him even more.

"Though I can't say I'm entirely disappointed," the woman continued. "I usually excell when I have to show someone the ropes."

"I'm sorry..." Mitsuomi finally managed to force out, his voice hurried and breathless. "But who —what— are you?"

Smirking slightly, the beautiful woman held out one hand, as if to shake his. "My name is Lancer." Her smile widened. "And I am your humble servant... Master."

* * *

Continuing to breathe heavily, the wounded man clasped at his side in an effort to stop the bleeding. Looking up through dark hazel eyes, he placed the form of a man stood into the middle of the circle he had drawn in his own blood.

Shifting his weight onto one leg, the standing figured crossed its arms over its chest.

"I see..." it stated. "So you are the man that is to be my Master?"

"That's right..." the wounded man said, slowly and painfully rising to his feet. "I'm Isaac."

The individual stepped forward, bringing his features into the light. Well built and tall, his muscular form was offset by a shock of feathery blonde hair. Wisps of gold framed his mouth in the form of a moustache and a trim, pointed beard. Eyes the colour of an emerald forest stared out of his face.

"You're injured," he said.

"Don't worry about me," Isaac grunted, waving a single bloodstained hand. "We need to get out of here... I only summoned you now because I'm being pursued." He began to mutter under his breath. "If it was different, I would have made sure the leylines were right — was that what he called them...? Damn, I can't think straight."

"So you're _ordering_ me to help you?" the Servant questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Not an order..." came the breathless reply, as Isaac attempted to stand up straight. "More a request... Or a plea now that I think about it. After all... We're partners now. Please, take this as my word... If you help me now, I swear to you that I will repay you later."

Half stunned by the dying man's courtesy, the blonde individual's lips parted in a smile to reveal a neat row of teeth. "Well then, sir, it seems that you have yourself a deal."

"Thank you..." Isaac hesitated for a second when he realised that his Servant hadn't introduced himself.

"Archer," the blonde man said, completing his Master's train of thought.

"Archer, huh?" he half chuckled.

Lifting an eyebrow, as he moved to support Isaac under the arm, the Heroic Spirit's voice took a friendly teasing tone to it. "Disappointed in my Class? Were you trying to summon me as a Saber?"

Laughing and slinging one bloody arm over the Servant, Isaac turned to look the green-eyed man dead in the eye. "The opposite actually... I was worried that if I summoned you this early, you'd be assigned into the Saber Class. But it seems someone has already called forth the swordsman."

"Good for you," Archer grinned. "My skill with a blade was legendary, but I've always been a bit better with a bow."

Returning the smile, with a grimace, Isaac gripped his side and braced himself. The sound of harsh shouts could be heard in the distance, as his pursuers grew ever closer to discovering him. His pulse roared in his ears and ragged breaths shook his body.

Casting one last concerned glance over his Master, Archer dipped his head slightly and tightened his hold on Isaac. "Take a breath, and hang on to me. And whatever you do, don't talk. You'll bite your tongue."

With that, he kicked off of the ground and the pair rocketed into the air, disappearing over the skyscrapers that littered the cityscape.

* * *

As the ether of light seeped out of the clearing, the snow beneath the magic circle was once again revealed. Stood on the outer rim of the circle, the pure white man lowered his outstretched arm.

Looming in the centre of the array, a large individual had appeared. Exceptionally tall and well built, he cast a strong and imposing shadow down onto the snow. His hair was long and iron grey, matching his eyes and the stubble that clung to his face.

Breaking into a smile, the Heroic Spirit turned away from his Master and strode over to the alter, upon which the catalyst for his summoning lay. Glimmering gold, the blade was beautiful and ornate, yet still emanated a chilling sense of danger. Winding his fingers around the leather grip, he lifted the sword into the air and examined it.

"I never thought I would see this again," he mused, to nobody in particular.

"One of the many preparations my family has made for the Holy Grail War," the curiously pale individual said, taking a step forward. "We excavated your sword a number of years ago. Using it as the means of your summoning seemed more than appropriate."

"Then I take it you're my master?" The huge man strode over towards the pale individual and looked him up and down. "I expected someone..."

"More imposing?"

"Different," the Servant corrected.

"Rest assured that you're in good hands." His blood red eyes glimmered as he spoke. "I am the head of one of the three great families of Mages: Alberto Von Einzbern. And I was raised for the specific purpose of being your Master in the War."

"Is that right?"

"Yes."

Watching his Master, the Heroic Spirit noticed a curious thing about him. Since they had begun their conversation, the man had yet to display any kind of significant emotion whatsoever.

"When is the War to start?"

"One month from today," Alberto replied. "Far to the East, in a city called Fuyuki. There the six other Masters and Servants will gather, and there you will cut them all down."

"I see you have confidence in my abilities, at least."

"The Saber Class is the most coveted for a reason. And with your abilities on top of the Class advantage, you should be the most powerful Servant summoned by the Grail."

Saber grinned, his beard distorting around his parted lips. "The most powerful? You're sure that's not just your overconfidence talking?"

Alberto didn't respond well to the playful teasing. Turning away from the Heroic Spirit, he motioned to his aides to set about other preparations.

"We'll be departing tomorrow morning. I would recommend taking spirit form to conserve Mana."


	2. To Ride the Clouds

**Chapter 2: To Ride the Clouds**

Mitsuomi Tanaka sat at his desk, holding his chin in his hand. Behind the lenses of his half-frame glasses, the Investigator's eyes were hard and pensive. Reflected in the glass, Lancer was reclining in her own chair.

"I'm still..." he said, attempting to figure out just what was happening. "How did I even manage to summon you? And why me?"

"Well accomplished or not, you're clearly a Mage," she smiled, in reply. "The Grail... It reacts to an overwhelming need or desire. Those with stronger emotions are more likely to be chosen. As for how you managed... I heard you, when the summoning occurred. You spoke the words of the ritual— well, some of them anyway." Folding her arms over her chest, the redhead lifted one eyebrow. "Which explains my improper materialisation."

"Improper?"

"My Mana reserves aren't as high as they should be," she admitted, shrugging halfheartedly. "And I can't seen to take spirit form... But I can still use my Noble Phantasm."

"What's a Noble Phantasm?"

This time Lancer let out a boisterous belly-laugh. "You really don't have a clue, do you?"

Mitsuomi turned away to hide his blush.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Lancer chuckled, waving her hand about. "I didn't mean anything by it, okay." Leaning forwards, she tapped her index finger on the desk. "Listen... Anything you want to know, I'll teach you. We're in this together."

Flicking his eyes back to the woman, the young man lowered his brows.

"Don't you want to know what I wanted?" he suddenly asked. "You said the Grail responds to a desire or need... Aren't you curious about what it was I wanted so desperately that I was able to summon you?"

"Everyone wants something," she replied. "Whatever it is is your business. You'll tell me if and when you want to. So there's no sense in prying."

"That's very..." He struggled for a word. "Diplomatic."

"What can I say, I'm used to dealing with strong-willed men." Lancer winked at Mitsuomi. "Determined fools who want to be heroes. I know what makes you tick."

The Investigator didn't know whether to take the statement as a compliment or some kind of jape at his expense. Ever since the strange woman had appeared, Mitusomi found himself second guessing almost everything. She had claimed to be his Servant, but he knew that he shouldn't push his luck or take their partnership lightly. Lancer was dangerous, and whether that was good for him or not still remained to be seen. The one thing he was glad of, however, was that she seemed willing to answer his questions.

"So what are the rules for this 'War'?" he asked. "How do I win? What's even the point of winning?"

"You win by being the last one left standing," Lancer responded. "Seven Masters and seven Servants compete with each other to the death to win the Holy Grail. And if you win — when you win — you get any wish you want. Anything at all. Even and especially whatever it was you wanted when you summoned me." She leaned back again and began to play with the ends of her long red hair. "As for the rules... We gather in Fuyuki — which, funnily enough, is right here — and fight the others. To the death, usually. Although it's ultimately a lot more complicated than that. This is one of those things where straight up strength just isn't going to cut it. You need to be smart."

"How so?"

"The other Masters and Servants may not exactly get on as well as we do. Not to mention... We will need to figure out who the other competitors are. Identify the Masters and discover the identities of the other Heroic Spirits." Glancing across the room, her eyes hardened. "Fighting them head on without knowing that is equatable to suicide. Heroic Spirits are monsters... Far stronger than even the highest class of Mage."

Mitsuomi scratched the side of his head, parting his neatly styled hair. "If they're so strong, why don't they just kill their Masters? Especially if you're saying they don't always see eye to eye."

"Masters are a Mana source for the Servant," Lancer explained. "If the Master dies, there's nothing to keep the Servant anchored to this world." She pointed at Mitsuomi's hand and grinned. "That and there are those marks on your hand."

Mitsuomi looked down and stared at the symbol one more time. Blood red, it seemed as if it were carved into his very skin.

"They're called Command Spells," she continued. "Physical embodiments of spells for absolute obedience. You only get three, but each one lets you completely control your servant. No questions asked." A playful smile danced across her lips. "You could order me to kill myself right now, and I'd have no choice but to do it."

Again taking a second to himself, Mitsuomi carefully watched the woman. She seemed strangely at ease with him, despite knowing that he could effectively kill her whenever he wanted. Almost as if she could tell what he was thinking; know that he had no intention of hurting her.

She was also confident. More so than anyone he had ever met in his life. However, that wasn't to say that she was without charm.

Mitsuomi typically found forceful and pushy women intimidating, preferring girls that were cute and submissive. But there was something about Lancer that drew him to her. Almost as if she had an innate appeal to her that was impossible to identify.

He wondered if the allure was some kind of power she possessed as a Heroic Spirit.

"So who are you?" he asked. "Or who were you?"

"You're starting to get the hang of this."

"I just figured that if we're going to make a strategy, we need to know what each other can do."

Lancer smiled playfully. "So what can you do?"

"No," Mitsuomi replied. "We're talking about you."

"You know, I'm starting to like you." She clapped her hands on her knees and sat up straight. "Fine, I'll tell you. My name is Scathach, a hero from the Ulster Cycle. I am the woman who trained the legendary Cu Chulainn."

Reaching out to the side, Lancer began to slowly rotate her arm. Materialising out of thin air, a bright red spear appeared and sank down into the floor. Light from the ceiling panels licked against it and glittered out into the air.

"And this is [ **Gae Bolg** ]," she explained. "Made from the bone of a sea monster, it's the spear of perfect accuracy, and certain death. No matter what, it will always pierce the target's heart."

"That sounds pretty powerful," Mitusomi admitted.

"But the conditions need to be right," Lancer added. "It takes quite a lot of Mana to use. And if another Servant uses their Noble Phantasm, it is possible to block it."

"So it's not foolproof," Mitsuomi muttered. "What kind of power could block it?"

"Artefacts similar to the spear, or legendary weapons, like Excalibur," she elaborated. "And coming across something like that is unlikely, but possible."

Mitsuomi reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a notepad and pen. After scribbling down a few words and phrases. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he eyed the Heroic Spirit in front of him.

"What about outrunning it?" he asked. "If there's a chance to block the spear, no matter how small, surely there's also a chance that it could be dodged?"

Lancer shook her head. "Not possible."

"You're positive about that?"

"Definitely. The spear never misses. Even if it doesn't manage to pierce the target's skin, it is always on target. The only thing that could counteract it would be a God. Or something owned by one at least."

"So there's no way that a Heroic Spirit could be a God? Or have a weapon owned by one?"

"Heroic Spirits are individuals who have had their names carved onto the Throne of Heroes. A hero is by definition mortal, so Gods don't qualify. As for the weapon... There are plenty of objects floating around that were made by Gods, but very few designed to be owned by and used by them. As far as I'm aware, all of them are locked away in vaults in Heaven. And only a lunatic would try and steal something from there." Gazing to the side, she stared out of the window. "Plus, Noble Phantasms are the physical embodiment of a Hero's legend. I doubt Godly Weapons would qualify for anybody." Her gaze remained distant as she spoke the next words. "Out of all potential Heroic Spirits I've heard of, I can't think of a single one who would have a Noble Phantasm from the Vault of Gods."

* * *

Cedric El-Aurum stared dumbfounded into the magic circle, drawn from the blood of the rabbits he had piled behind him. In front of him stood no Heroic Spirit. The space ahead instead held absolutely nothing.

Hurriedly glancing down at his hand, his eyes picked out the red markings of his Command Spells.

 _Which means I am a Master..._ he thought. _But then where is my Servant...?_

"Wow! That was some trip!"

Eyes snapping up, Cedric spotted a figure hanging from the ceiling. Dangling from one of the light fixtures, the individual swept one hand back through its hair before dropping to the floor.

Tall and trim, the Servant took the form of an unassuming young man. Sharply spiked dark brown hair hung around his face in choppy locks, the fringe covering the entire of his forehead. His face was chiseled and attractive, bearing a dark tan that almost seemed to blend with his long sideburns. Flashing out from between his thin lips, his teeth were neatly straight and bright white, contrasting with his dark eyes. Cheerful and still, his eyes bore no irises, consisting instead of large black pupils. He wore a streamlined black jacket, trimmed with gold, and a pair of loose-fitting turquoise trousers.

"I didn't expect to end up here though," the Servant continued, placing his hands on his hips and beginning to pace and examine the surroundings. Picking up a thick tome set down upon a bordering table, he flicked through the pages. "Everything is so stuffy and dusty. I need some fresh air!"

Not even giving his master a chance to respond, the Heroic Spirit leapt into the air and broke through the nearest window. Grabbing hold of the frame above him, he swung up and began to scale the side of the building.

Rushing over to the smashed glass, Cedric leaned out into the open air and stared up at the spec of his Servant disappearing up the spire. Reaching the roof, the Heroic Spirit kicked off and rocketed upwards, landing on an overhanging rock of the mountain that the research centre had been built into the side of.

 _Damn it, he's impulsive..._ Cedric thought, nervously. _But it's okay... He can't get too far away from me. As soon as he moves outside of the range of my Mana, he'll return to spirit form and have to come back._

But the Servant didn't de-materialise. He continued to move, scaling the side of the mountain at a rapid pace.

Cedric felt his heart lurch in his chest.

 _Independent Action?!_ Squinting his eyes, Cedric hurriedly assessed his Servant's stats. _A+ ranked?! But how? He's only Rider Class! Only the Archer should have this level of the skill! This is bad..._

Panicking, the Mage lifted his hand and pointed it at his Servant's back. Had logic not restrained him, he would have unwittingly used one of his precious Command Spells.

 _No... Wait it out. He'll be back eventually. I knew something like this would happen when I decided to summon **him** of all people._

All of a sudden, a crack of lightning lanced off of the side of the mountain. A split second later, Cedric felt something move past him at high speed.

"Jheeze! Cold up there!" Rider laughed, appearing back in the centre of the room, cloaked in a veil of static electricity. "Windy too!" Striding over to Cedric, the young man looped one arm around his Master's neck and began to playfully snap the strap of his suspenders. "Gotta say though, didn't expect this place to be in a mountain range. Where are we, anyway?"

"The Sea of Estray," Cedric replied, brushing off his Servant's arm and starting to clear away his scrolls and books. "A branch of the Mage Association. Right now, we're in the middle of an enormous wandering mountain range."

Rider whistled between his teeth, impressed.

"The War itself won't be here, though," he continued. "It's held in an eastern city; Fuyuki."

"Sounds fun," Rider chuckled. "When do we leave?"

"I still need to gather and prepare a few things... But I should be ready by tomorrow morning. Then I'll book a plane ticket under a fake name and-"

"Nope."

The Servant interrupted him in such a dismissive and lighthearted manner, it took Cedric a moment to register what he had just said. "What?"

"Why do you want to get a plane when you have me?" Rider asked, playfully. "I can get you there myself, no muss, no fuss. And no paper trail, or witnesses. Win, win, win, win!"

"While I admire your enthusiasm, I don't think even you would be able to- WHOA!"

Rider grabbed hold of his Master, while he was still in the middle of talking, and launched them out of the shattered window, lightning trailing in their wake. The mountainous scenery rushed beneath them in a grey blur, soon replaced by the flickering green of trees and the sparkling blue of water.

Within seconds, the pair had touched down in the middle of a snow-dusted forest.

Released from the grip of his Servant, Cedric stumbled across the ground and whipped his head around at the scenery. "This is... The Black Forest... Germany!"

"And you didn't think I could do it," Rider laughed, stretching his hands out to his sides. "I can get you into Fuyuki without anyone even knowing how or from where."

Clicking his heels together, a metallic sound filled the air. Looking down at his Servant's feet, Cedric realised that the boots he wore were constructed from solid gold.

"With my Noble Phantasm [ **Kinto-Un** ], I can travel halfway around the world in a single leap," Rider chuckled. "Or are you trying to say that you summoned me without even knowing that much about me?" He winked. "Don't worry... As long as you have Sun-Wukong by your side, you have nothing to fear."


	3. The Three Great Houses

**Chapter 3: The Three Great Houses**

"Okay sir, that's one single room."

The hostess smiled pleasantly as she reached over the counter and handed the keys to the new arrival.

"Will that be cash or credit?"

Pulling out a dense roll of notes, the man threw them down onto the surface and tweaked his mouth into an insincere smile.

Dressed in a heavy black coat, his hood was pulled up over his head and his eyes shrouded by a pair of dark sunglasses. In his free hand, he carried a heavy duffle bag.

Glancing down at the man's hand, the hotel employee stifled a gasp. "Oh my god... Are you okay?"

Suddenly remembering the Command Spells seared onto his hand, the man withdrew the appendage and stuffed it into his pocket. "I'm fine."

Stunned by the man's sharp reply, the girl rambled out an apology and wished him a pleasant stay. Turning away, the older man didn't respond, instead making a beeline for the elevator.

Over his shoulder, in spirit form, his Heroic Spirit continued to berate him.

"You really should have thanked her, Alasdair," he said, his voice resonating in the man's head. "Ignoring her was rude."

Alasdair Heath elected not to respond. Ever since the Heroic Spirit had been summoned, it had done nothing but criticise him.

He initially thought that this job was going to be easy money. Perform a summoning and kill a few Mages. It was nothing entirely alien to him; after all, he had killed Mages before.

What he hadn't counted on was the scope and scale of what he was now a part of.

 _Damn that old bastard..._ he thought, bitterly. _He didn't tell me just how intense this whole thing would be. If he had, I don't know if I would have signed up. And to think I felt sorry for him... No Mages born naturally in his family anymore, so he hired me to compete for him. Now I know what he's doing... Biding time until it rolls along next time, and using me as a stop post for the time being._

Now in the elevator, Alasdair watched the numbers light up beside him, as he traveled upwards.

"Fucking Matou's..." he muttered under his breath.

"And once again I find myself pulling you up about the way that you talk about your employers," his Servant said, materialising beside him in the elevator.

Slim and unimposing the man had dark skin and a white beard. Dressed entirely in black robes, a white enamel mask in the shape of a skull hung from his belt.

Alasdair swore under his breath. "I keep telling you not to materialise in public."

"This is not public," the Servant replied. "I have been an Assasin for far longer than you, my boy, and I know when I am being watched. And at present, there are no eyes on me."

"What do you want?" Alasdair asked, sharply.

"Orders," Assasin replied. "Surely you have something to give me? As you are well aware, the Grail War is only a few days away. We require preparations."

Sighing, the hitman finally turned to face his Servant. "Well then what would you suggest?"

"Thermal sensors," the spirit replied.

"Excuse me?"

"On all major rooftops in the city," Assasin continued, folding his arms over his chest. "Pointed at the streets. It may not identify any Servants, but for Masters it will be more than effective. Magic Circuits in the body result in a notable increase in body temperature, and the presence of Command Spells will only raise it even higher."

"How do you even know what a thermal sensor is?"

"In the process of summoning, all Heroic Spirits are given knowledge of the modern world," Assasin replied. "Some of us use it more practically than others."

Alasdair let out a low grunt. "I guess that makes se-"

The door to the elevator opened, revealing an elderly couple standing in the hallway. Beside him, his Servant had already vanished into the ether.

Nodding gruffly at the couple, Alasdair exited the elevator past them and strode down the hallway. Reaching the door to his rented room, he unlocked the door before entering and bolting it behind him.

Settling down his case on the sole bed, he drew the curtains and withdrew the contents.

Metallic clicks filled the air as he locked the pieces of his numerous firearms into place. Methodically, he worked with a cold and empty expression, behind his dark glasses.

Pausing suddenly, he picked up and examined a particular piece. Turning it over in his hands, he stopped in thought for a moment. The words of his Servant played back in his head.

"Hmm..." he hummed. "Thermal scope it is."

* * *

Alberto Von Einzbern strode through the heavy doors that provided entrance to the castle and threw his gaze around the enormous hall. Over his head, an ornate chandelier hung from the white marble ceiling, throwing golden light onto the numerous tapestries and paintings hung from the walls. The soles of his white leather shoes clacked against the tiled floor as he advanced further into the castle.

Materialising behind his Master, Saber lumbered into the Castle. No longer wearing his typical combat-centric garb, he was clad in a plain black suit, complete with a white shirt and black tie.

Around the duo, a legion of Alberto's servants busied themselves with preparations to conceal and protect the castle with a Bounded Field.

"This will be our home, for the duration of the War," Alberto explained, not once looking at his Servant. "The defences prepared are perfect. A Bounded Field already exists around the forest, so as to conceal its presence from intruders, and the remainder of my faculty are strengthening the spiritual defensive wall protecting the castle. I can activate it at will as soon as I detect an invader entering the forest."

"Mhmm," Saber hummed, disinterested, as he strode across the room to a bordering dresser. Set upon the structure was an expensive looking vase. Prodding the rim, the Servant toppled the china from its perch. Colliding with the floor, it promptly shattered.

The Einzbern family head didn't so much as flinch.

Still not looking at his Servant, he began to climb the enormous staircase ahead of him. Raising one hand over his shoulder, he beckoned the Heroic Spirit to follow him.

"Do you know the speciality of the Einzbern family?" he asked, still facing ahead as Saber began to scale the incline behind him.

"Not at all," the Spirit replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets and continuing to examine his surroundings. Around his brutish features, his long grey hair swayed gently from the small motions of his head.

"My family are the world's leading experts in the field of Alchemy," Alberto explained. "With an extreme emphasis placed... On the creation of Homunculi."

"So I take it that's what you are?" Saber asked, gruffly. "Some kind of living doll?"

"In as many words..." the pure white man replied. "Though compared to my butlers and maids, I am a bit of a special case."

Quickening his pace, the Heroic Spirit drew level with his Master. Looking down at him, from an imposing height, he pulled a quizzical expression.

Alberto dropped his voice low. "I am telling you this because the information may end up being pertinent for the battles to come. Only a select few of my staff know, and I would rather it be kept that way. If only in the interests of raising our chances in the War."

Saber said nothing, instead keeping pace with the red-eyed man, and waiting for an explanation.

"Homunculi are different from normal humans," the Einzbern explained. "While humans have the ability to utilise Magic Circuits in varying degrees, Homunculi are essentially Magic Circuits given physical form. As such, we have an increased and far superior natural affinity for Magecraft. However... That comes at the cost of our physical constitution. Put simply, we tend to be more frail and die easier than humans."

Now reaching the top of the great staircase, the duo began to advance deeper into the depths of the castle. As they moved, Saber kept his eyes trained on his Master's face. As he had come to expect, the spectral individual had yet to display a single emotion.

"But frailty is not a quality to be sought in a soldier," Alberto continued. "Least so in one set to battle for the Grail. And as such, drastic measures were taken. The man standing before you now is in fact the fifty-sixth Alberto Von Einzbern."

Saber narrowed his eyelids. "What happened to the rest?"

"They perished in an attempt to perfect the process," he said, simply. "In addition to Homunculi, the Einzbern family is also extremely adept in the creation of Golems. Golems, as I'm sure you are aware, are artificial entities made from some kind of base element. This makes them superior to humans physically, but somewhat lacking in regards to Magecraft, past the creation of other Golems and Homunculi." Lifting one hand in front of his face, Alberto flexed his fingers. "I am the result of surgically transplanting the Magic Circuits of a Homunculus into the body of a Golem." He lowered his hand and finally looked up at Saber. "Hence, number Fifty Six."

Saber shifted in place uncomfortably and let out a low grunt. "That had to've been painful."

"The removal of Magic Circuits is akin to ripping out the nervous system," Alberto explained. "So yes, it was painful. However... I can now no longer feel pain. It appears that during the transplantation, my nerve endings were seared."

 _That explains the dead eyes..._ Saber thought to himself. _He says he can't feel pain, but I'd wager he can't feel much of anything._

"So why tell me this?" the large, grey-haired, man asked solemnly.

Approaching a high window, the duo stepped up towards the glass and stared out across the vast expanse of trees. In the sky, the sun was slowly beginning to sink over the horizon.

"To let you know that I'm not as frail as you might assume," the Master explained. "So you need not protect me in any confrontation we may find ourselves in. Our objective is to win. Nothing more."

"You don't want me to defend you from other Servants?" Saber asked, somewhat hesitantly.

"Servants are another matter," Alberto replied. "Your job is to fight Servants. And if one somehow manages to attack me, then you're clearly not doing your job."

The Heroic Spirit chuckled under his breath. "Fair point."

"What I was referring to were confrontations with other Masters." Reaching out and pressing his fingertips into the cold surface of the glass, his red eyes flicked over the leafy canopy below. "Any Master we come across, leave them to me. Barring the Caster Servant, I can say with utmost certainty that I am the strongest Mage in this War."

* * *

Kazuo Tousaka sat lounging in the high-backed leather chair that inhabited the corner of his study. The smell of incense hung in the air, wafting around his head of neatly slicked back hair. Rolling between his fingers, a bright blue gem reflected diamond points of light that danced across his face.

His expression was calm and pensive; dark blue eyes staring out of his face at nothing in particular. Thoughts and plans for the War danced through his mind, occupying far more of his attention than anything in the physical world around him. The numerous spiritual barriers set up around the Tousaka mansion ensured that he would not need to pay any attention to the defence of his home. For years he had been storing Mana into his gems for this very purpose. Set all around his property, a number of them were responsible for the maintenance of his defences.

Further afield, he had sent out a number of familiars, his consciousness linked with theirs. That way he would be able to spot any potentioal trespassers before they even arrived at his stronghold.

Kazuo had been preparing for this battle since he could walk and form words in his mouth.

The sole heir to the Tousaka estate, his father had started his training early. From a young age he was groomed and tested, all to evoke Heavens Feel. All to reach the Root.

The most gifted Mage in six generations of his family, Kazuo was born with peerless potential for Magecraft. As such, he was given a special education. His life was devoted to the War.

However it still wasn't enough.

He needed more. He needed to be certain that he could win.

It was because of that need that he had purposely searched out the other Masters before the official starting date. A long-time alliance between his family and the Holy Church had helped him immensely in this venture. Several years earlier, he approached the supposedly impartial mediator and negotiated the reveal of the only other Master that had stepped forwards and revealed himself: A man not associated with either the Mage's Association and the Church.

Kazuo's plan had been to bring the independent Master into the fold. It would have been a great advantage to have a pawn that he could play off of. Someone who he could mould into an ally that would fight the way that he needed. And then, when the time was right, he would stab him in the back and claim the Grail for himself.

Unfortunately that venture did not work out as well as he had hoped. The man had figured out Kazuo's intentions before either had summoned their Servant; though not before the Tousaka heir had taught him a number of useful skills.

 _Still..._ he thought, clasping the gem in his hand tightly. _I at least know what I taught him. And before I encountered him, his rank as a Mage was so low that it's almost laughable._

Rising to his feet, he made his way across the room to one of the high bookcases and pulled out a thick leather-bound volume. Thumbing through the pages, more out of boredom than genuine interest, Kazuo's mind lingered on the other Master.

Out of the corner of his eye, a faint shimmer caught his attention.

Materialising into solid form, his Servant appeared in a ripple of ethereal light. Petite yet toned, the woman was almost entirely naked. Milky pale skin almost seemed to luminesce, while her long black hair swallowed all light that seemed to encroach upon her. Glowing out of her face, the woman's eyes were a deep and all-consuming red.

"Ah, Caster," Kazuo muttered. "You've returned earlier than I expected."

"I grew weary of the world outside," the beautiful young woman replied. "I much prefer the air in here. Your ancestors picked a good place for the manor; strong magic lives here."

"So does this mean that there will be less of your little excursions?" the Master asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Well I didn't exactly say that," Caster smiled in reply.

Internally, Kazuo cursed his Servant. While her power was undeniable, and her status as a Caster complimented his own abilities well, her general demeanour irked and grated against him. Personality wise, they couldn't have been more opposite if they tried.

"So your preparations to build your own Mana reserve are complete?" he asked, in an attempt to take his mind of off their less than desirable relationship.

"Almost," she replied, leaning back against the edge of a nearby table and folding her arms over her breasts. "The gems that you gave me have been very useful."

"That's good to hear," Kazuo said, averting his gaze from her nude form. "I don't want to leave anything up to chance."

Caster pursed her glossy red lips and cocked her head to the side. "Don't worry. As long as you have me around, you've all but won." A mocking light glimmered across her eyes. "Even if we do encounter the Master you're so nervous about."


	4. Declaration of War

**Chapter 4: Declaration of War**

Enrique Aleghieri walked the streets of Fuyuki, flicking his eyes around the numerous buildings. All around him, pedestrians stepped out of his way and watched him with wide eyes. Across the road, a gaggle of teenage girls cried out and began to point.

Draped in a grey hoodie and a pair of light blue jeans, he made every effort to appear inconspicuous, however given his appearance this effort was futile. With his dark tanned skin and natural blonde hair, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

His gait laboured by fatigue, Enrique's pace was slow and lurching. Ever since he had summoned his Servant, the young man had felt like all of his energy was being gradually sapped away. Worse than that, it took every ounce of his concentration to stop his limbs from trembling. A side-effect of anchoring his Servant was a constant and persistent pain across his entire body, that gripped him like a vice. It felt as if all of his nerve-endings were being dipped into boiling water.

 _But that's fine..._ he thought. _I can endure this much. Berserker is the strongest Servant class, so this is only natural..._

If he could help it, he made sure to keep the Heroic Spirit in his spirit form as much as possible. Enrique knew that if he kept Berserker materialised too much then it would exhaust his already limited Mana supplies.

 _Still... I managed to summon Him,_ Enrique thought, with a grin. _The drain is more than worth it. Without a doubt, I have the strongest Heroic Spirit in the War._

Casting his mind back, he thought of the moment he first laid eyes on Berserker. Even standing still, and despite his relatively short stature, the Servant radiated strength and intimidation. A shock of black hair and a thick beard clung to hard and blunt features, while out of his face stared white pupil-less eyes. His body, covered by thick and mottled black-red skin, was chiselled and hard with defined muscles. Strangely calm looking for a Berserker, his expression was distant yet strong; as if he were staring down the maw of the universe.

Even as he walked through Fuyuki, Enrique could remember it as clear as day. It still sent a shiver across his skin.

His years of searching for the relic had more than paid off. It had taken every resource that he could scavenge and dig up just to catch a whiff of it. His one saving grace was that none of the other Masters would even consider summoning Him as a Servant for the War.

 _In fact_ , he thought. _I bet none of the other Masters would even consider Him qualified to be a Heroic Spirit._

Glancing up at the sky, his eyes gained a remote distance to them. In his mind, clockwork thoughts ticked over his options.

 _Now... It's just a case of finding them. And then Berserker can slaughter them all._

The gears of his brain froze, locking onto a singular thought. A smile gripped his trembling lips, pulling them back over the flat enamel of his teeth.

 _Unless I bring them to me._

* * *

Limping around the corner of the busy city street, Isaac gripped his side tenderly and readjusted the backpack that he wore with the other hand. Turning right, he began to cross through the city, making his way uphill.

A fair distance up the incline, he subtly turned around and looked over the landscape. In the distance, he could see the outline of a series of mansions. Eyes glued to the large houses, he whispered under his breath.

"Tousaka..."

"I can see at least six different kinds of spiritual barrier, set up around one of the houses," Archer said, his voice echoing inside Isaac's head. "Nothing is getting in there unless he wants it to."

"I wouldn't expect anything else," Isaac sighed, grimacing as he gripped his wound. Despite the benefit of time to heal, the wound was still straining his makeshift stitches. He needed to take things easy, lest he risk ripping it open again. "How many familiars do you see?"

"Twelve," Archer replied. "No, wait... Fourteen."

Isaac was thankful for his Servant's keen eyesight. Had Archer not been so adept at long-range recognisance, he likely would have tried to break into the estate, only to be killed the instant he was detected.

"Whoever he is, he knows what he's doing," the Heroic Spirit continued. "He's probably not going to venture far from the stronghold, unless he senses a battle. And then only once he's sure that it's over, so that he can take out the winner. I've seen types like him before."

"Which means we're going to have to wait for someone else to die, before I can get a shot at him..." Isaac muttered.

"So that's the plan?"

"No," the Master replied, bluntly. "I don't like the idea of using someone else as bait. We need to figure out a way to get inside the Mansion without alerting him. Catch him by surprise and hit him where he lives. He won't be expecting that."

"Because it's next to impossible," the Servant retorted. "While I am impressed and quite taken with your sense of chivalry, I would like to reaffirm my strengths as an Archer. I'm not particularly skilled at infiltration. If you want to break into there, you would be better off with an Assasin Class Servant."

"What ever happened to the title: Prince of Thieves?" Isaac asked, coyly.

"Nobody ever called me that to my face," Archer replied, his disembodied voice bearing a hint of a chuckle to it. "And, anyway, my Stealth was only impressive by human standards. Against magic like that, I'd be next to useless."

Isaac hummed pensively. "Any chance that we could snipe him?"

"That's a definite possibility," Archer replied. "With my Noble Phantasm, I'd be able to shoot through those barriers no problem. The only issue is... If I do use it, there's going to be a bloom of Mana. And a pretty big one too. Meaning that if I don't move quickly after I make the shot, we're an easy target for somebody."

"Not if we pick a good spot in the first place." Isaac turned and swung his vision over the city. "Like the top of a building, somewhere." Squinting his eyes, he nodded towards a skyscraper. "That looks like it could work well for us."

Archer appeared the ponder the option for a second. When he finally did speak, his voice bore a concerned edge to it. "With all due respect... Are you sure that it's wise for you to accompany me? As an Archer, I have the skill of Independent Action. I could take up watch, and make the shot while you hide out somewhere. Then if I am attacked in the aftermath, you would at least be safe."

"No..." Isaac replied, his voice heavy. "I'm not going to do that. I'm not some coward that would run and hide while someone else puts their life on the line for me. So sorry. No can do." Turning away from the Tousaka mansion, he continued on his way up the hill. "You and I... We're in this together. I promised you that I would do right by you, after you saved my life. And I don't break my promises."

"You're an honourable man." The Servant's voice sounded impressed.

Isaac shook his head. "No. I'm a fool. But I'm a fool who sticks to his principles."

Archer allowed himself an impressed hum. When he was summoned into the material world, to fight for the Grail, he did not expect his Master to be quite so accommodating. In fact, as things stood, the man didn't even have a desire for the wish-granting relic. Instead, all he wanted was revenge against the man who crossed him and left him for dead.

And with that Archer could empathise. He knew all too well the spurring power of revenge. The desire to right a wrong slighted against you.

In a way, Isaac reminded him a lot of himself. The man held a strong moral code; something that seemed he would never waver from, even given the threat of his own death.

He was glad that his Master was the man that he was.

Still preoccupied with considering his Master, Archer only just realised a subtle shift in the atmosphere. From spirit form, he saw a flash of movement dart between the rooftops above. Expecting an enemy, he prepared to return to physical form. However, something about the presence restrained him. It didn't feel threatening or malevolent, as an enemy should have done.

It perplexed him, leaving Archer with a vague sense of intrigue.

As Isaac turned down onto an empty street, Archer materialised beside him. His blonde shock of hair caught the wind, fluttering around his face as he took a step forwards. Having changed from his traditional attire, he wore a simple white shirt and jeans.

"I'm going to scout on ahead," he said. "You continue back to our lodging. I'll meet you there shortly."

"Is something wrong?" Isaac asked nervously, pausing as he darted his eyes about.

"I'm not sure..." Archer replied. "Like I said, you continue back. It's probably nothing."

Isaac opened his mouth to protest, but didn't manage to get a sentence out. He was cut off as Archer leapt into the air and scaled the side of an overlooking building.

Reaching the top, Archer began to leap between the roofs, following the trail left by the strange presence. Every so often, he spied something moving at high speed, but was unable to define its features. This fact, given his extraordinary eyesight, unnerved him.

After a way the buildings thinned, giving rise to the clear expanse of an inner city park. Several trees dotted the area, and erected in the centre was a humble wooden veranda.

Having lost sight of his target, Archer leapt down into the park and began to quickly dart his eyes about, from beneath the shadow of a tree.

The sound of a playful whistle drew his attention up.

Hanging upside down, his legs wrapped around the branch of the tree, was a tanned young man. His hair was dark and he wore a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Beaming from his face was a playful grin.

"How's it goin' down there, blondie?"

Instinct taking over, Archer jumped back and prepared for a fight. Lifting one hand, he prepared to summon his bow, when the young man raised his own hands in surrender.

"No, no! I don't wanna fight!"

"What?"

The young man broke into a bashful grin. "I said I don't want to fight." Releasing the branch, he flipped over midair and landed in a crouching position. "I just thought I'd say hello. Y'know, so we can get to know each other."

"But you're a Heroic Spirit," Archer persisted. "Isn't fighting supposed to be what we do?"

"Weeeeell..." He stretched out the word and scratched at the side of his head. "I guess so. But my Master hasn't told me I need to fight you specifically. And I guess it's the same for you? So how 'bout for now, we just call a truce? Be friends?" The young man cocked his head to the side and flashed another smile.

"You want to be my friend?"

"Yeah," he replied, holding out one hand. "I'm Rider. Nice to meet'cha."

Archer eyed the appendage for a good while before clasping it and responding in kind. "Archer."

"See, don't that feel much better than us fighting it out?" Rider said, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "We're both in the same boat now, so figured it'd be good to get to know the company. After all, it don't look like we're gonna be here very long. Might as well enjoy the time we have here, while it lasts."

Archer raised an eyebrow. The other Servant was not at all what he expected. "You're... Strangely optimistic."

Rider shrugged. "Guess I have to be. No sense in bein' anythin' else."

"I guess not."

"So." Rider clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. "Guessin' your Master's around here somewhere? Mine's back in the other half of the city. Couldn't take bein' locked up in that room, so thought I'd get some fresh air."

"He's..." Archer hesitated, still wary of the strange individual. "Around."

The tanned young man hummed. "Your's got a wish for the Grail too? It's all mine goes on about. Says he wants to win it to prove himself, or somethin'."

"Not really," Archer replied, finally relaxing somewhat. "It's strange. My Master doesn't seem very interested in winning the War at all."

"Sounds like a weird guy." Rider stuck a finger in his ear and absent-mindedly began to glance around the park. "But I dunno... Interesting. Probably better than my guy."

"You don't like your Master very much?"

"Eh, it's not that I don't like him," Rider said, dismissively. "He's just a bit boring. I mean, he's got a goal; he wants to win. But... A bit highly strung, y'know?"

"I think I know the type." Archer shifted in place and folded his arms over his chest. "But what about you? Don't you want to win?"

Rider pulled his finger out of his ear and inspected the tip. "Kinda... I guess I just wanna have fun." He straightened up and locked eyes with Archer, a smile again spreading across his face. "Make some friends. Fight strong guys."

"Careful what you wish for," Archer replied, with a grin.

"See," Rider laughed. "Now you're gettin' the hang of it. At first I was a bit worried the other guys weren't gonna be that nice. Or fun. You proved me wrong. Good on ya'."

"Thanks for the compliment. Am I the first one you've met?"

"I've seen one or two around," Rider replied, slyly. "Didn't really stop to chat though. They all seemed pretty busy. Saw an old guy in a mask hangin' around on the rooftops a while ago, and didn't wanna disturb him."

"Assasin?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"And where was that?"

Rider laughed. "Nu-uh. Not gonna tell ya' that. That cheatin'. You wanna know where he is, you gotta figure that out. I'm just here for a chat is all."

Archer smiled. "You're really sticking to this whole truce thing, huh?"

"If I broke my word, what would I be?" Rider again shrugged and scratched his head.

"Pretty terrible at truces," Archer replied, smirking.

Breaking into a boisterous laugh, Rider clapped. "Got it in one! Y'know, I really like you, Blondie."

Beginning to pace, Rider started to circle the tree. As he did so, he once again locked his fingers behind his head. His gaze was distant, as if he were staring at something off in the distance.

Orange light began to seep through the park, as the sun started to sink below the horizon. Warmth overtook the two men and a warm breeze lapped at their bodies.

"See, we can be civil and have a good time. What's the point in seeing everyone as an enemy? None of us are fighting because we don't like the other; we're only doing it because those are the rules. As long as we aren't ordered to fight, we can be friends. Even if we are ordered to." He grinned, still gazing off at nothing in particular. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't wanna fight you. So when it comes to it, we can still have a good time."

"Someone's a bit of a fighting junkie," Archer smirked.

Rider finally looked back at him and returned the teasing smile. "I like a challenge."

The young man's attention suddenly flicked sideways, darting in the direction of the river. Archer sensed it as well. He figured that every other Master and Heroic Spirit felt it too.

"Speaking of..." Rider chuckled, excitement brewing behind his boyish features.

"Someone's setting up a beacon," Archer completed.


	5. Clash on the Riverside

**Chapter 5: Clash on the Riverside**

Sat at his desk, Mitsuomi Tanaka sensed the bloom of Mana wash through the city. Eyes turned away from his investigation reports and stared out from behind his glasses, lingering on the window and flickering with coloured light as he watched the sunlight dance over the surface of the river. Stood on the opposite bank, visible as a tiny spec in the middle of the dry overflow, he could make out a figure.

"That's probably the Servant," Lancer said, forming solid beside him. "There's no way a Master would put himself out in the open like that."

"So you're thinking its a trap?" Mitsuomi asked, his eyes not once straying.

"More like a lure," she replied, placing her hands on her hips. "Whoever they are, they're confident in their strength. 'Come and get me, if you dare.' That kind of thing."

"So they're stupid."

"Or strong," Lancer said, lifting an eyebrow as she watched the static form of the other Servant. "Or both."

Mitsuomi leaned back in his chair and took a breath. Drumming his fingers against the desk, he slowly thought through all of his options. His mind rolled slowly over the many possibilities, all the while his eyes looked over the papers laid in front of him, detailing everything he had discovered about the other Masters.

"Running straight into that wouldn't be smart," he began. "We don't know what our enemies can do. More than that, if we fight with the one that's announcing himself, there's a good chance that others are going to show up. But... If we hang back just far enough that we can watch what happens, we'll be at an advantage."

"I take it we're going, then?" Lancer asked, tying her long ginger locks behind her head.

A smile touched Mitsuomi's mouth. "I guess so."

* * *

"Archer, did you feel that?"

The sound of his Master's telepathic communication sprang up inside the Heroic Spirit's mind.

"Yes," he replied. "It appears that someone is eager to start."

"Whoever set that off," Isaac continued. "Is that who you were following when you went off on your own?"

Archer turned his eyes over onto Rider. The young man was stood, staring at the river, and trembling with excitement. His solid black eyes were wide with anticipation.

He considered telling Isaac about his fellow, but thought better of it. "I'm not sure. I saw something, but couldn't be certain. I think that it might be, though."

"Okay," his Master replied. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the park. North East from where I left you. Stay where you are, I'm going to make my way back now. Given your condition, this is a fight we shouldn't be getting involved in. I think it's best if we- Hey, what are you doing?!"

Rider looped one of his arms around Archer's waist and bent low at his knees. "Lets go meet him! Brace yourself, Blondie!"

A flash of white overtook the Servant's vision and, with the sound of a thunderclap, his stomach jumped into his throat as he was launched into the sky. A split second later, Archer felt ground beneath his feet. Whipping his head around, he realised that he had landed in the middle of the concrete overflow, of the riverbank.

Stood several feet in front of him, shoulders rounded and body braced against the elements, was a half naked man. Relatively short in stature, he wore some kind of animal skin around his waist, as a form of loincloth. Corded densely with muscle, the man's exposed physique was stained a mottled shade of dark red mixed with black. His black hair was shaggy and unkempt, as was his beard, and his hard eyes stared out of his calm face as a solid and unmoving white.

"Archer? Archer?!" Isaac's voice shouted, in his mind. "What happened? I saw something that looked like a lightning strike. Are you okay?"

Archer didn't respond. So shocked and dumbfounded by the almost instantaneous movement, words failed him. He had no idea that it was even possible for a Heroic Spirit to move so fast.

 _Did he use his Noble Phantasm?_ he thought, watching as Rider released him and began to stride over to the unmoving figure of the other Servant. _He must have... But the sheer speed. That can't be normal._

Still the sound of his Master persisted, inside his head.

Just as he was about to open his mouth to respond, Archer stopped short in dismay.

"Hi," Rider said, shoving his hand out towards the stoic figure in front of him. "I'm Rider. What's your name?"

"Get back, you idiot!"

Archer's body moved automatically. Lunging forwards, he grabbed hold of the neck of Rider's shirt and yanked his fellow Servant backwards. A split second later, the blade sliced through the air, exactly where Rider's throat had once been.

Stumbling backwards, the two Heroic Spirits let out identical breaths of relief. The strange Servant in front of them remained mute, keeping his arm holding the weapon raised; unmoving save for the blink of his inhuman eyes.

As Archer released him, Rider blustered and took a step forward. Lifting one hand, he jabbed an accusatory finger towards their opponent and began to berate him.

Finally returning to his senses, Archer responded to Isaac. "I'm sorry... It appears that I've been drawn into the battle."

"What happened?"

"Another Servant pulled me in," he replied. "So far, he doesn't seem like an enemy. The real problem though is the one that set off the beacon. He's strong. Unpredictable."

He sensed that his Master was about to respond. His previous statements and manner of speech belied his intentions to join him.

Archer spoke again, before Isaac could voice his opinions. "I'm sorry, but you need to stay away from here. I'm going to try and look for an opening to escape. Fighting him now, when I don't know what this Servant can do, is almost suicide. Wait for me by the shelter. I'll meet you there."

Ignoring further protests from his Master, Archer stood up straight and swept his keen vision around the area. Looking for a blind spot, to utilise in his escape, he kept one eye on the mysterious Servant. Even as Rider was flinging insults at him, he still had yet to move.

Reverberating against the concrete, the sound of tutting suddenly filled the air.

"Well colour me disappointed." A disembodied voice, amplified by magic, echoed down through the overflow. It bore a strong Italian accent to it, rolling through the words with elegant ease. "I was expecting at least one Master to show up. But it appears that all of them are cowards; sending their Servants ahead in their place."

Rider ceased his blustering and jerked his head around, in an attempt to locate the Master. "Big talk coming from someone hidin' in the shadows! Show yourself, then we'll talk about who the coward is!" Stopping to think for a second, he came to a realisation. "And anyway! My Master didn't send me here! I was just out on my own and decided to check things out. So there!"

Whether the Master didn't hear him, or didn't care, he ignored the statement. Again the disembodied voice rang out, through the area. "Berserker," it said, domineering command in its tone. "Kill them both."

Finally, the stern and stoic Servant moved again. Crouching lower, Berserker gripped his weapon tightly in his left hand and locked his limbs into a fighting stance.

Eyeing the weapon with caution, Archer realised for the first time since he arrived that the blade Berserker wielded was not in any way ordinary. Rough and yellowed, in the way that only aged ivory could be, the weapon was slightly misshaped and bore what appeared to be a row of teeth along the back edge. It looked like the knife had been carved out of the jaw bone of some kind of animal.

 _That's got to be his Noble Phantasm,_ Archer thought. _And he looks like some kind of barbarian. But... Figuring out who he is comes later. For now I need to get away._

"If you wanna go, you can," Rider grinned, speaking to Archer over his shoulder and never once looking away from Berserker. "Figured we could introduce ourselves and get off on the right foot. Seems like this guy doesn't feel the same, though."

Golden light flickered over Rider's form as his original garb washed away his modern clothes. Within a moment he was wearing a black jacket, trimmed with gold, and a pair of turquoise pants. Reaching up behind his ear, he pulled out a thin silver object. In size and shape, it resembled a pencil.

"You can fight him with me, if you want," he continued, grinning. "But I won't blame you if you don't." Striding forwards, he tossed the small silver object up into the air. "Expand. [Yeoui]."

The pencil-like object suddenly lengthened, growing spontaneously until it was the size of a staff. Grasping hold of it, Rider span it around his hands and lunged at Berserker.

Shocked by the sudden growth of the weapon, Archer watched as the two Heroic Spirits in front of him clashed. Rider lead with the foremost end of his staff, slapping aside Berserker's blade before reversing his swing and aiming a swipe at the other man's head. Avoiding the attack, Berserker leaned back and lifted the sprig of bone clasped in his left fist.

Feet leaving the floor, Rider dodged the slash by leaping over his enemy. Flipping once, he landed behind Berserker and swung his pole backwards.

Sidestepping and crouching low, Berserker ducked under the staff and turned about himself. Retreating one step, he backed towards the wall of the overflow, stepping over leaves that had been washed into the guttering as he went.

Giving chase, Rider whirled his staff around himself, striking out at the retreating Servant. Every time the pole dipped in for an attack, the foremost end was knocked aside by Berserker's bone blade.

Watching the duo, Archer analysed the fight, all the while wrestling with himself as he considered retreating.

 _I should get out of here now,_ he thought. _The name of Rider's weapon... Yeoui. If he is who I think he is then he should be strong enough to handle Berserker on his own. But... Why is Berserker retreating towards the wall? If he keeps that up he'll be cornered. He's planning something._

Almost as if he had read Archer's mind, Berserker's once stoic face pulled into the shape of a grin. Once again knocking aside Rider's pole, he dug one foot into the mulch that lined the guttering and flicked his leg up. A mixture of mud and leaves flew through the air, spattering Rider's face and leaving him momentarily stunned.

Lunging in, Berserker lifted his weapon and prepared to attack.

He was stopped as an arrow flickered in front of his vision. Slamming into the concrete wall, the projectile bore into the structure and reduced it to rubble. As the wall behind him exploded into dust and fragments of shrapnel, Berserker leapt sideways, sweeping his vision over the area until both of his opponents were in his line of sight.

Swiping one hand across his face, Rider cleared his eyes and laughed. "Thought I told you you could go?" he said, his statement directed at Archer while his attention remained on Berserker. "And if you had let him kill me, it would've meant one less opponent in the War."

Archer drew another arrow from his quiver as golden light took hold of him, stripping him of his modern garments and replacing them with leather and chain mail. "Well my Master didn't order me to let you die," he grinned. "So if I didn't save you... I guess that would make me pretty terrible at truces."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," Rider laughed, whipping his pole around his body as he re-set his defensive stance.

* * *

"Assasin... What can you see?"

Alasdair Heath sat in the back of an inner-city bus, eyes closed and hood pulled up over his head, as he listened to the voice of his Servant.

"I see two Servants, battling a third," the aged voice of Assasin replied. "One wields a bow, and the other some kind of staff. Archer and Lancer I'd wager."

"What kind of opponent would force two of the Knight classes to join forces?" Alasdair asked, intrigue plucking at his face.

"Based on his appearance, I would say that he is of the Berserker Class," Assasin said. "I believe his Master was the one that set off the beacon."

"I know Berserker is considered the most powerful Class, but does this Master really believe that his Servant is powerful enough to fight off every other Spirit in the War?"

Assassin's response was lighthearted, and tinged with an impressed air. "So far he appears to be holding his own."

"Oh?"

It was difficult for Alasdair to hide his surprise. He expected all Servants to be relatively equal in strength; the idea of one fighting another two simultaneously originally appearing absurd. With the report from his own Servant, however, he was forced to reevaluate his judgement.

"Can you see his Master, from where you are now?"

"No," Assassin replied, slowly. "Currently, I am observing the battle from the bridge over the Mion River. He appears to have hidden himself in some kind of blind spot from my current position. He is clearly no novice when it comes to battle strategy." The Servant paused, pensively. "The Master has also set up a barrier, to shield the battle from the attention of normal humans."

"But that shouldn't be a problem for you?"

"Of course not," Assassin confirmed. "The barrier is also not of a sensory nature, so it will be a simple matter to slip into. And given my innate ability of Presence Concealment, I should be able to move about the battlefield completely unseen."

"Meaning that you can find the Master and kill him, while he's focussed on the battle," Alasdair completed.

"No."

"Excuse me? What do you mean, no? I was lead to believe that you were some kind of legendary assassin."

"Those whom I killed were always given a fighting chance," the Heroic Spirit replied. "And at least prior warning of my intentions."

"So apparently now there's honour in murder?" Alasdair sneered under his breath. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. The reason why he decided to summon the Assassin Class Servant was to compliment his own battle strategies. The fact that the Servant was so diametrically opposed to his methods was unsettling.

"There is honour in everything." Assassin retorted, with a calm and purposeful voice. "I will locate the enemy Master for you. Though I will not kill him. Not yet at least."

With that, Assassin severed their mental connection. Swearing under his breath, Alasdair shifted his sitting position in the back of the bus and moved upright. Despite the comforting weight of the handgun, strapped to his chest beneath his jacket, he knew that he was currently ill-equipped to participate in a battle. Still in the process of setting up thermal sensors on the roofs of the Fuyuki skyline, he had left the majority of his arsenal back in the hotel room.

For now, it appeared that he would have to trust his Servant.

* * *

 _Something is seriously wrong..._ Archer thought, jumping back to avoid a swipe from the bone blade. _He's far too coordinated for a Berserker. This man... He's keeping up with Rider's speed, all the while dodging my arrows and fighting back._

Berserker overextended the motion of his swing, turning back on himself and quickly pivoting on the ball of his right foot. Kicking off from the ground, he launched himself back towards Rider, slamming the sharpened edge of his weapon into the main body of the silver staff, raised by the other Heroic Spirit in selfdefense.

The sheer pace and power being thrown around by the battle was blistering. Prana, flung from the bodies of all three spirits as they battled, burned through the air in a fierce intensity, ripping through the landscape. Even the simplest of actions left destruction in their wake: A single footfall crushed the ground underfoot; the wind whipped up behind the single swing of a weapon carved into the stone wall; shockwaves of power rippled over the river, churning up a powerful wave.

 _This isn't working,_ Archer's mind whirled, as he dodged yet another of Berserker's attacks. _He's far too nimble for me to shoot him at close range. I need to find an opening to retreat and hit him from a distance. But with his fighting style... And those damn white eyes of his. I can't tell where he's looking, or who he's targeting next._

Leaping forwards, from outside of Archer's peripheral vision, Rider slammed the end of his staff into the ground and vaulted over their enemy's head. Now midair, the swung his weapon down, in an attempt to strike Berserker from above.

Turning to the side, Berserker allowed the swipe to descend in front of his face, before lifting his right hand and snatching hold of the pole. Pulling Rider towards him, he raised the blade in his left hand. He was aiming to stab Rider in the face.

Yet the other Heroic Spirit didn't even flinch. Grinning, Rider let go of his staff.

Suddenly assaulted by a great weight, the fearsome Servant was whipped to his right. Feet leaving the floor, his right fist, still holding his opponent's weapon, slammed into the ground, crushing it and reducing it to rubble.

"Heavy, huh?" Rider laughed, lifting his left leg and preparing a downward kick, from his midair position.

Finally emitting something resembling a word, Berserker roared and again lifted his left hand. As Rider's leg descended, he prepared to stab him in the side.

Screaming through the air, an arrow slammed into Berserker's wrist, piercing his flesh and knocking his attack wide. Blood flew into the air, smattering the floor, as the sonic boom of the shot erupted across the river.

Peering over his outstretched hand, and past the side of his bow, Archer smiled slightly.

Now free to follow through on his assault, Rider's heel slammed into Berserker's head. A deafening crack split the air, and a deep rumbling explosion shook the landscape as the ground below the Servant was reduced to a crater of rubble.

Cartwheeling to the side, Rider grasped hold of his weapon and leapt back to rejoin Archer. "Thanks for the save. Nicely done."

"Well played with the pole," Archer retorted, smirking. "I'd heard it was heavy, but it even seems a bit much for the strongest Class."

"So you've figured out who I am, eh Blondie?"

"Basically," he replied, his expression stiffening. "Sorry, though, you're going to have to learn my name on your own."

Their conversation was interrupted as Berserker staggered to his feet, before them. Blood dripped from his punctured wrist and ran down onto the blade of his bone knife. A similar crimson stream leaked out of his midnight hairline and streaked down the mottled red skin of his face. Flashing out from within his beard, his teeth were bared in rage.

"I'd say I'm surprised, but that would be a lie..." Archer muttered, only half to himself. "He's too inhumanly strong for that to have done much."

Unease gripped Archer. While it was true that their enemy was powerful, that alone shouldn't have been cause for alarm. Powerful he had seen and fought before. The fact that the other Spirit appeared unphased was unfortunate, but not concerning. No. Rather, the reason for his worry was the fact that...

Berserker's Master was laughing.

Heavily accented, his voice rolled through the area, echoing off of the concrete walls and dispersing over the river. "You fools! Now you have sealed your own doom!"

Light burst from Berserker's chest, in time with his Master's gloating, etching some kind of runic symbol onto his skin. Head cocking to the side, the Servant broke into some kind of harsh and aggressive smile.

As this happened, pain assaulted Archer's left arm. He felt a blow against his wrist, agony searing out from the joint, and before he knew what had even happened, it was broken. Similarly, beside him, Rider felt a strike against the top of his head. Skull cracking from the force, he cried out in pain and clasped his scalp, as blood poured down his face.

"Damn it..." Archer hissed, trying desperately to not drop his bow. "I should have realised it sooner... A Berserker who wields the jaw bone of an animal; the first blade crafted by man. Blinded by jealousy, and gripped by a vengeful rage. I never even thought that he could be considered a Heroic Spirit..."

Realising what his comrade was saying, Rider opened his black eyes wide. "Wait! You're kidding? You mean to tell me he's-"

"Cain," Archer completed. "Brother of Abel, and son of Adam and Eve. The Father of Murder. Which means his Noble Phantasm is that thing on his chest. The Mark of Cain."

* * *

 **Genesis 4: 15-16**

 **But the Lord said: "Not so; anyone who harms Cain will suffer vengeance seven times over." Then the Lord put a Mark on Cain, so that no one who found him would kill him.**


	6. The Nature of Mortals

**Chapter 6: The Nature of Mortals**

The Berserker Cain stared down both Archer and Rider, coiling his body as he prepared to lunge into an attack. Dripping from their wounds, blood spattered against the floor, punctuating the still silence of the air.

 _We've lost our two-front advantage,_ Archer thought, gritting his teeth and holding his gaze steady on the Servant in front of him. _And as long as his Noble Phantasm exists on his body, we can't damage him without it coming back on us. Damn... This isn't looking good._

"So any bright ideas Blondie?" Rider asked, grinning ever so slightly as he prepared to face off against Berserker's assault.

"I've had a few ideas, but not any good ones."

"How about if we kill him in one hit?" Rider suggested. "Take him out before the curse has time to activate."

"No. See I've been thinking about that, and decided that was probably the worst thing we could do." Archer lowered his brows and took a slow step backwards. "That thing on his chest isn't a curse or a rune. It's an Act of God. A crystallised miracle. Meaning that killing him isn't going to deactivate it. If anything it would make it stronger, and anyone who kills him would also die."

Rider's mouth curled into a grin. "So what you're saying is... We need to somehow force him to kill himself."

"What I'm saying is— Wait, what?"

By the time Archer had thought to question his ally's logic, Rider had already leapt back into the fray. Ducking under the arc of Berserker's slash he crouched low to the floor and stepped into the enemy Servant's range. Flicking **[Yeoui]** up behind him, he slapped the end of the pole into Berserker's forearm, forcing the blade back towards its owner.

As the tip of the weapon plunged into the flesh of his chest, Berserker roared in rage.

Still crouched low, Rider dragged his feet along the concrete and dashed to the side to avoid a retaliatory attack from the enraged Servant. As he did so, he waited for the damage to rebound back onto him.

When nothing happened, he broke into another smile. Because he knew his theory was correct.

"Got'cha."

Archer stood watching, finally understanding what Rider was doing.

 _If the attack comes from his own hand, then it has no one to reflect the damage onto. Meaning, if we can pin him down and force him to stab himself, then we can win._

Green light took hold of Berserker's body as his Master healed him. All the while, the black-haired Servant continued his assault on Rider.

Now aware of the danger of counter attacking his enemy, Rider focussed solely on either dodging or turning aside Berserker's attacks. Dipping and diving around him, he watched for an opening.

His chance, however, never came.

Midway through a charge, Berserker slammed his foremost foot into the ground, carving a deep trench into the concrete. Bending his leg, he wound the force of the sudden stop back into his body before suddenly kicking off again and rocketing towards Archer.

Seeing the advance of the brute, Archer barely had time to think. Acting more on instinct than anything else, he threw down his bow and rapidly drew the sword strapped to his hip. Metal locked against bone as the two weapons collided in a shockwave of force.

Swinging his arms sideways, Archer threw his enemy's blade wide, before instinctively reversing his blade to aim for Berserker's face.

His enemy's own reflexes saved him. Leaning backwards, Berserker allowed the arc of the sword to pass over his nose before back-stepping and moving out of Archer's range.

 _Damn it,_ the bowman thought, blocking another strike from the enraged Servant. _I'm too used to fighting to kill. If he hadn't dodged just now, I would have been at the mercy of his Noble Phantasm. But..._

Sidestepping slightly, he again engaged Berserker.

 _I at least have a plan, now._

Deflecting another of Berserker's slashes, he moved his feet sideways. Paying close attention to his position, Archer attempted to lead the other Servant into a particular spot. Turning slightly as he blocked another attack, he guided Berserker into place. So focussed was he on Archer's sword, he didn't realise that Rider had taken his back.

 _Now!_ Archer's mind shouted. Locking eyes with Rider, over Berserker's shoulder, his gaze intensified. _Restrain him!_

* * *

Alberto Von Einzbern sat on one of the numerous balconies that adorned the outside of the enormous European castle. Wind washed past him, fluttering through his white hair in a gentle current. His crimson eyes were closed, the white lashes throwing faint shadows down on his cheeks, as he looked through the eyes of his familiar.

Circling the battlefield at the riverside, he stared down through the vision of the hawk and analysed the Servants engaged in the blistering melee.

 _Archer..._ he thought. _And... Lancer? Maybe... His stats are curious and strange._

The gaze of his familiar sharpened as Alberto watched the battle.

 _Hm... An Archer that uses a sword, and a Lancer with peculiar stats. Curious._

Leaning back further in his seat, he stretched out calmly and continued to observe the unfolding skirmish. Alberto lounged blissfully, perfectly at ease and content with the situation.

 _Yes,_ he simply thought. _This is the best course of action to take._

He barely heard the soft patter of footsteps as they approached him. A pretty young woman with silver hair and rose coloured eyes, Justiceviel Von Einzbern waited patiently by the edge of the balcony. Despite her beauty, the expression that she wore was pensive and listless.

Another of the Einzbern Homunculi, Justiceviel had travelled to Fuyuki as part of Alberto's entourage, to aid in his acquisition of the Holy Grail. Her devotion to him was steadfast, ensuring her commitment to the War, and her capacity for Magecraft within the Einzberns was second only to him. It was for that very reason that she was chosen as his personal assistant.

Severing the mental connection with his familiar, Alberto opened his crimson eyes and allowed his gaze to fall upon the woman.

"The first battle of the War has begun," he said, calmly.

"Saber is currently exploring the castle," Justiceviel replied. "Should I summon him for you?"

"No," Alberto responded. "He is not needed. I am using this opportunity to observe the enemy Servants and identify their weaknesses. If he were aware that a battle was occurring, then he no doubt would be compelled to join in."

Justiceviel smiled and tilted her head to one side. "You really do think of everything."

Alberto merely hummed a simple response before rising and striding towards the balcony's edge. When he arrived beside his companion, he didn't so much as look at her. Narrowing his eyes, he stared over the trees at the red horizon.

Standing in quiet thought for a long minute, he gave no indication of what was going on inside his head.

"Justiceviel."

When he did speak, his voice was low and flat.

"This War," he said. "What is it to you? What does it mean to you, to obtain the Holy Grail?"

"That's a very strange question," she replied. "I thought that Grandfather Acht created you without the ability to feel emotions. But what you just said... It almost made you sound human."

Alberto's empty gaze lingered on her but he otherwise did not reply. Taking his silence as a cue that he did not care for the topic, Justiceviel returned to the question she had been asked.

"The Holy Grail is..." She paused for a moment to adjust her phrasing. "Something that I would very much want to see."

"That's all?"

"Does my reply displease you?" Justiceviel asked.

Alberto thought for a moment. "No. The fact that you have your own view on the situation is valuable. And to feel displeasure would mean that I had the capacity for emotion — which, as you have pointed out, I do not have. Rather I was inquiring if there was any more. Or do your ambitions only stop at seeing the Grail?"

"To see the Grail would mean that I escaped my fate," she replied. "If I were to see it, it would mean that I would be alive."

"So your desire is to live?"

A brief flicker of distress touched Justiceviel's face. As soon as it was apparent, however, the expression was already passing. "Yes. I suppose you could say that. I do want to live. But doesn't everyone?"

Alberto slipped his hands into his pockets and turned his gaze back onto the horizon. "I suppose. Though what does it really mean to live? You and I... Could you even consider us alive in the first place? Manufactured as we are. When we die, nobody mourns us — we are simply thrown onto the disposal heap. Life is sacred and respected... Not something churned out off of a production line."

Tears beaded in Justiceviel's eyes. Yet she did not cry. Smiling politely, she bowed and excused herself from the balcony. As she left, the woman passed by the large form of Saber, stood with his arms folded around the corner of the doorframe.

Once he was sure she was out of earshot, the Heroic Spirit joined his Master on the balcony. Brows knitted, he glared down at the man. "That was cruel."

"I do not have the capacity to be cruel," Alberto replied. "I was merely musing upon my own mortality. Malicious intent does not dwell within me."

"Just because you don't feel doesn't mean that others are the same," the Servant replied.

"Do not ask me to empathise. Such a thing is impossible. Some things are just in one's nature. Anything contrary to that would reject the natural order of things. I can change my lack of feelings no more than a human could walk on water."

"But isn't that what Magecraft is for?" Saber replied, pointedly. "And I thought you'd said that you were the most powerful Mage in this War?"

"An interesting take on my words," Alberto nodded. "Though the analogy is not necessarily correct. Besides..." Sitting on the stone railing, the pure white man close his eyes and breathed gently. "My nature does not change her reaction. Justiceviel heard something that was not there. My comment was meant less as a slight to her and more as a self-observation."

"Is that right?"

Alberto re-opened his eyes. "Everything fades, Saber. We are no exception. But... Could you really call it death? Even you, brought back through the power of the Grail... Are you truly alive?"

The sinking sun licked at the Master's profile with a deep orange light. Warmth took over the scene and a subtle air of silence settled on the pair.

"The first battle of the War has begun," Alberto continued. Despite his earlier insistence not to inform his Servant, his actions were contrary to his words. "Perhaps from here will we see."

* * *

Lunging from behind Berserker, Rider prepared to loop his staff around the other Servant's neck. As he did so, the flexed the fingers of his left hand, readying himself to grab the Heroic Spirit around his dominant wrist.

However, despite the distraction of his battle with Archer, Berserker still noticed the Monkey King at his back. Deflecting his frontal enemy's sword, he rapidly turned about himself and made a slash at Rider, aiming for his throat.

Rider's coal black eyes snapped open wide. Hurriedly thrusting his right foot forwards, he attempted to anchor himself and backstep. The speed at which the bone blade was heading towards his neck, though, was far too fast. He wasn't sure if he would make it in time.

 **"Berserker, stop!"**

The distorted sound of the hidden Master's voice echoed through the overflow, freezing Cain in his tracks. The sprig of bone stopped inches from Rider's throat.

Archer stood stunned, his expression matching that of Rider's dumbfounded face.

 _Why did the Master tell him to stop?_

* * *

Stood within the alcove of an alleyway, several hundred feet above the overflow, within the streets of the overlooking city, sweat beaded against Enrique Aleghieri's forehead. Stretched out in front of him, his hand blazed with a searing pain as the deep crimson Command Spells reacted to his order.

His eyes slowly lowered, moving from the glowing red outline of his stigmata, to the glimmer of silver light beneath his chin. Reaching out, as if it were phasing through the solid wall behind him, the black arm of a Heroic Spirit held a blade to his jugular.

"Good," rolled the pleasant voice of Assassin, his face rising from the wall beside Enrique's head, as if it were a pool of water. Within the depths of his long white beard, the Servant's mouth broke into a slight smile. "Now... Have Berserker retreat. This is a warning."

Enrique swallowed. "Why didn't you kill me?"

"If I were to kill you before you were even aware of me, then it would be nothing more than cold blooded murder," Assassin explained, his eyes shining coldly. "Or do you disagree?"

The tanned Italian man hissed between his teeth.

"Good," Assassin continued. "Once your Servant returns to spirit form, leave this place. This is enough battle for today."

"So you're just going to let me go?"

"For now. However, now you are marked. Aware of the danger to your own life, I doubt you will dare do something so impulsive again. Though, should you exercise your right to poor decisions again... Then I will kill you."

* * *

Dissolving into particles of light, the form of Berserker disappeared from the battlefield, leaving both Archer and Rider stunned at the development.

"Well that was lucky," Rider chuckled, humorously wiping sweat from his brow. Tossing his pole into the air, he breathed a slight sigh of relief. "Contract, **[Yeoui].** " As soon as he spoke the command, the weapon shrank to little more than the size of a pencil, ready for the Monkey King to tuck it behind his ear.

"Undoubtedly," Archer replied, sheathing his sword and letting out a long breath. "I'm surprised that we're still even alive."

"I know," Rider grinned. "Exciting, huh?"

"I'm not even going to justify that with a response."

"Well isn't that technically a response?" Rider winked and strode over to the other Spirit. Licking his palms, he swept them back through his unruly black hair, removing it from his face and revealing a red and gold line tattooed across his forehead. "You were good. Better than I thought. Really strong actually." Bowing low, he kept his hands to his sides before straightening back up. "Consider that my gratitude for when you saved my life."

Surprised by the sudden show of humility, Archer smiled and waved one hand. "Don't mention it."

"Well, I best get going," Rider laughed. "My Master is probably worried about what I've been up to. I can't say I blame him, really... I am quite impulsive."

Archer said nothing in response, instead smirking to himself and folding his arms over his chest. If anything his companion was underselling his rash and impulsive nature. If the tales of his exploits were anything to go by then over the course of their afternoon Rider must have exercised great restraint.

Clicking the heels of his gold-plated boots together, The Monkey King waved once at the other Heroic Spirit. "Until next time, blondie!"

With a white flash Rider disappeared skyward, trailing a bright bolt of lightning behind him like an ethereal cosmic tail.

Turning back towards the city, across the froth and waves of the river, Archer spied the distant form of Isaac sprinting towards the site. Equal parts impressed and dumbfounded by his Master's bravery, he dissolved into spirit form and began to make his way across the river.

As he did so, a single thought played inside his head: _How on earth am I going to explain this?_

* * *

Watching the conclusion of the battle, from the summit of an overlooking rooftop, Mitsuomi Tanaka turned to his Servant and lifted an eyebrow. "So? What do you think?"

"They're all strong," Lancer replied. "However... It's the Berserker that I am worried about. That Noble Phantasm of his is dangerous. Even if I were to use [Gae Bolg] on him, the blowback would kill me as well." She paused for a second and dashed her eyes over the ruined concrete of the riverbank. "My advice would be to steer clear of him, unless absolutely necessary."

Mitsuomi nodded in agreement and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"However, right now..." Lancer continued. "Our priorities lay elsewhere. Namely," she turned her attention away from the river and onto the city behind them, "this strange network of bounded fields that I'm sensing." A dangerous light glowed in her eyes as her senses latched onto the Mana signature. "Someone is planning something dangerous here... And we need to figure out what."


End file.
